Until I See You Again ... (A CanEm Story)

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I can hear the familiar humming of an engine outside telling me that he has finally arrived. Can has come and I never realized how much I had missed his truck. So many memories are linked to that car. I smile and Ivy coos. The treacherous witch!

I watch him striding his way towards the house and all of a sudden, he moves in slow motion as my head is inexorably tilting to the side. Ivy is indeed a frigging witch! He knocks on the window and breaks the spell I was caught under.

I clear my throat and force myself not to swoon at him. He's so handsome. I will never recover from how gorgeous-looking he is. I will never recover from the way he looks at me, like he's the spoon​, and I'm the dish of ice cream * ... I can hear Ivy sighing in the background of my mind and I straighten up, my body bracing itself. I clear my throat again.

"Please do come in ..."

He enters, glancing sheepishly at me.

"Good afternoon ... Hoş bulduk", he says in a low voice.

And right at this moment I just hate myself because I don't need to be this rude to him.

"Hoş Geldin, hoş geldin ... Evet ...Thank you for coming", I manage to utter in an annoyed tone. Ivy is furious. I signal him to step inside and he does so, cautiously, narrowing his eyes in my direction.

I clear my throat again. Why is it so difficult for me to act civil around him? I've forgiven him but the way he pushed me aside has left its mark. I definitely need to shake off this auto-defence system I built against him.

"Are you well?"

"Excuse me?"

"Stop barking at him", warns Ivy.

He looks so ill at ease, not knowing what to do with his huge body that makes my house look tiny and crammed.

"Well, is your throat sore? Did you catch a cold? Yani ... It wouldn't be surprising in this weather."

It's a lovely day for December. The sun shines weakly and it wouldn't surprise me if a few flakes start falling around in the evening. I love snow. It's crispy cold but not to my werewolf man. He's only wearing jeans with a white button-down shirt, the top four or five buttons are undone as they always are. I can just about make out the outline of his pecs. I brush my hand along the nape of my neck as the heat seems to be turned on to full all of a sudden.

"Are you sure you're okay to travel Sanem? Your cheeks are very red ... I hope you're not running a fever ...", he insists.

"Yok, yok! I'm absolutely fine", I gruff, "Why don't you go sit down while I go get my luggage?", motioning him towards the settee.

Can compliments me on my new home as he moves across the living room until he stops dead. A few minutes pass and he exhales loudly.

"Can? Can!"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, Yes ..." and the rest of his sentence is lost to me. I've never seen him like this, all sweaty, unable to look at me, pulling at his shirt as if his clothes felt too tight for him all of a sudden.

He eventually sits down, leaning backwards, resting his hands flat on his thighs. He looks literally petrified, stiff, uncomfortable. He seems ... in pain.

I blink in surprise and incomprehension. He's now inspecting the settee with his gaze. His hands have not moved. Turning on my heel, I hurry back to my room to grab the suitcase I left on the bed. I'm in and out within 5 minutes and he still resembles that statue I saw in Greece that someone would have left on my settee as a joke. I press my lips together, fighting the laugh back behind my lips.
Cautiously, almost in awe, his large hands reach the cushions around him, stroking them reverently. His fingers linger on the fabric, as if they're reacquainting themselves with the texture, the softness and all the memories linked to them. That is odd. This is the first time he's been to my place. He didn't even know that I had moved out from my parents'. Emre told him.